Matter

CHAPTER 12

The rain slows during the night and picks up coldly again in the early morning. I walk through the rain, feeling the drops attempt to wash the pain and stains from my body. The clouds finally break, and the morning sun warms my skin and dry my clothes. The cool after the rain has dissipated and the dry heat becomes painful as the afternoon begins. The events of the last twenty-four hours feel like a bad dream rather than a memory. I walk until the pass opens into an open field near a road.

I hear faint voices in the distance and I bring out a sidearm. I'm prepared to kill these bastards again. I approach a clearing in the bushes to see a large gathering of people standing together in the bright sun. These are not soldiers, but other travelers trying to escape them.

A lady with brown hair turns her head in my direction, looking aghast and backs up. All eyes fall on me. My bloody clothes and tousled appearance make them understandably uneasy as I advance. They become more concerned about the gun aimed in their direction. They shift their weight, judging my movements. I don't care. They're clueless to what I've been through. No more worrying about what other people think of me. What do the thoughts of the living mean to the deceased?

I lower the weapon. I suppose I should say something. I open my mouth and a voice containing no emotion pours from my lips, "A small group of terrorists found my family and a couple that had stayed with us. They shot everyone, including my son. Then I killed them." My voice is a dagger stabbing me with the memory of those terrible men.

Looks of fear convert to disbelief and then pain for my loss. How peculiar. I don't feel anymore, why should they attempt feel the agony that should be mine? Perhaps they were just offering an empathetic gesture thinking I would return it. Silly folks, emotions are for the living. I'm void of life. Maybe not on the outside, but on the inside, I'm a corpse.

They go back to their previous conversations and leave me in my contemplations, their eyes darting at me every few seconds. My mind drifts away from them to the haze of the prior morning and my brain attempts to comprehend it all. What am I now? I used to be a wife and a mom, but she doesn't exist anymore. She passed out of existence with the others and this shell continues on without care or love, but stays in her likeness.

Their voices continue to fade in and out and I lose myself in my thoughts, the condemning voices swimming in my head. What was it that spared me from those bullets? I remember as a child being told that You let things happen and use those that can make the most impact. Grandma told me You know where our lives are going. Where am I going? Why can't Nick have been spared? Why me? My son was so young and he could have done so much more. What do I have to offer with him gone? Nothing! I'm nothing now. Why would You cause me so much pain? I thought You loved your children. I loved my child and You let him die in my arms at the hands of a murderer!

A man, probably in his early forties, broke through my ranting at the empty voice of God. "We can't stay out here. If there were some this close, there's bound to be more."

A tall slender man asked quickly, "Where do we go then?" He looks as though he's spent the entirety of his short, young adult life in front of a computer screen rather than outside in the sun. His pale, acne riddled skin is quickly getting singed.

A calm voice speaks above the anxiety, "Is anyone from this area? We need to find out what's close by. With the guns we all have, and the military style she has, we should be able to hold out for a few days or more." An older gentleman points in my direction, looking around the group with calm blue eyes.

A petite, plump teenager steps out from behind a couple and shyly raises her hand. "I live- um- I lived a county over. I think I remember an old hospital down that way. No one goes there anymore." Her chubby finger gives the general direction and the older gentleman begins to gather his belongings. The rest of the group nods collectively and begins the journey.

After a long walk in the searing heat, we come across a dirt road that has become overgrown and is barely noticeable to anyone that would just pass by. The earth is still marked by the many vehicles that commuted this way decades passed. Walking down the winding path, we step over bramble and branches that have tried to block the way. It seems as if nature itself is trying to hide what's at the end of this road. I want to run, and fear tries to rise in me again. This time the emptiness of my soul pushes it back down and reminds my fears that I had seen the worst. I can handle a path and a building.

Our journey ends at an immense wall and just past the rusted gate stands a structure that time has forgotten. The building towers over us amidst this wooded area, though I'm not sure if this is our sanctuary or prison. The bars on the windows refuse to grace us the secret. We ease our way through the gate, split into groups and begin looking around the weed covered yard. We inspect the building and the land surrounding it. As I stand on top of a large mound, I look beyond the first building, the first of several on the property.

A voice calls for our attention, "Hey guys! You might want to come over here and look at this."

A couple beganclearing the thick brush, pulling the tall brown weeds back from adeteriorating sign. We gather around, taking in the name chiseled into therotting wood, enhanced with peeling yellow paint: Peaceful Meadows Sanatorium. I look up at the immense structureagain. We're standing before an abandoned asylum. This is precious. I crack asarcastic grin at the irony. This is a ward of lost souls. Perhaps mine is lingeringsomewhere on this property. I'm no longer the woman I was yesterday; maybe thisis God's way of pushing me further into the darkness, my personal tomb. Well played God, well played.